Matt got up early Tuesday morning, hustling to get dressed, eat his breakfast and get out the door. He was leaving home a good fifteen minutes before normal today and he was riding his bike. It wasn't like he wanted to get to school early or anything. It was just that he didn't want to run into Jake. Not today.
He and Jake had been friends since pre-school, but this morning Matt didn't want to have anything to do with him. He was mad at his buddy and he wasn't sure what he would say if they did meet. So he pedaled hard up Anderson Crescent, past the oak tree at which he usually met Phil and Jake and right on to school. Those guys would just have to walk in without him today.
As Matt was locking up his bike in the rack, he heard a familiar sound. Crack! Then a few seconds of silence. Crack! He knew what it was right away. It was barely 8:00 AM, but somebody was already taking batting practice.
Curious, Matt walked over to the diamond. Might as well, he thought. He was so early for school he had nothing better to do. There was Andrea, wearing her full South Side Stingers softball uniformâwhite and maroon with shorts and high socksâand standing at the plate. And on the mound, working behind the pitching machine was none other than Charlie.
“Five more,” Charlie yelled. Andrea nodded her head. Five blazing fast pitches followed. Andrea put four of them into the outfield with a sharp confident swing of her bat.
“Thanks, Charlie,” Andrea smiled. “I owe you some cookies.”
“Chocolate chip,” Charlie grinned back. “No, make that double chocolate chip.”
Matt gave Charlie a hand rolling the pitching machine back into the storage room while Andrea collected the practice balls and her gear. Afterward, the three sat in the bleachers. It was a beautiful spring day, with the sun already giving off just enough heat to make it short-sleeve comfortable.
“When are you going to be able to play?” Matt asked Andrea.
She looked at Charlie. “I think this afternoon,” she said. “We've been getting in some extra hitting for the last couple of weeks. Charlie's got me ready.”
“Yeah, he's helped me out too,” Matt said, playfully pulling the Yankees cap Charlie was wearing down over his eyes. “And I didn't even have to bake him anything.”
Charlie laughed. “Hill, I wouldn't trust you to make toast.”
Charlie suddenly looked at his watch and rose quickly. “I've got to get going,” he said. “I've got a math test first thing this morning. Hargraves always gives brutal tests.”
Matt and Andrea waved to Charlie as he walked away, struggling to work up a fast pace because of the brace on his leg. Matt could tell Charlie was in a good mood. He liked it when his work was appreciated. Then again, who didn't?
“So, you're playing today. That's great,” Matt said, turning to Andrea, who looked so much different in a softball uniform, with her long blond hair in a ponytail pulled through the back of her purple Stingers cap.
It was the first time he had talked to Andrea alone since the dance. He had wondered if things might be a little awkward between them, but they weren't.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
“Sure, yeah,” Matt said. “Gotta show the old school spirit, right?”
Andrea smiled. But it didn't last long. A look of concern came over her face, like she was remembering something negative.
“I'm glad you're here early this morning,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about something, but not around your friends.
“It's about the dance. Remember when Jake and those guys and Marcia went outside? I couldn't tell you about it then, but Marcia said Jake and his cousins were smoking a joint.”
Matt didn't say anything.
“Whatever those guys do is up to them,” Andrea continued. “But it wasn't cool with Marcia. I don't think she'll be hanging out with Jake anymore. He sort of ditched her too.”
Matt understood. He felt like he should defend Jake. But he also felt like Marcia was right. Jake had just taken off on her after arranging the whole dance thing with the four of them. And with Marcia's dad being a drug and alcohol counselor, he was sure she would have felt pretty weird about seeing them smoke a joint.
“I sort of figured out what happened,” Matt said solemnly. “And Marcia's not the only one who's pissed about it.”
Matt wasn't sure why, but he felt he could tell Andrea about the dilemma he was facing with Jake. He told her about the night at Long Lake and about the drugs in Jake's jacket and about the mess he was now in with his mom and Officer Peters.
“I don't know what to do about it,” he said, hoping she might have an idea.
“I think you have to talk to Jake,” Andrea said. “You guys have been friends for a long time. He probably doesn't even know about the trouble he's caused for you.”
The warning bell rang. That meant just five minutes before the first class of the morning. “I've got to go,” he said. “Good luck in your game.”
Matt had trouble concentrating all day. Mostly he was thinking about Jake and how he should approach his friend. But he was also thinking about Andrea. Nothing in particular, just thinking about her.
When the final buzzer rang at 3:35, Matt dumped his books, grabbed his backpack and pedaled to the ball diamond. The South Side girls were just taking the field for infield practice. Andrea was playing shortstop. She was fielding grounders with a huge smile on her face.
Matt didn't see Jake walking up behind him. But he felt the arms wrap around his head and twist his neck. “Full-on WWE submission hold,” Jake yelled. “Give up, dude. I've got you in the stultifying sleeper of death hold.”
Normally Matt would have joined right in with the clowning around. But he didn't feel like joking with Jake right now. Jake could read his serious look and toned down the wrestling shtick. “I need to talk to you about something,” Matt said.
“What's up, Mattster?” Jake said.
In a few seconds, Matt had told his friend everythingâabout the jacket in the equipment bag, Joker, Officer Peters and his mom. Jake looked stunned, taking it all in slowly.
“That sucks,” he said, shaking his head side to side. “What are you going to do?”
“I don't know,” Matt said, leaving Jake an opening to make a suggestion of his own.
Just then a car horn honked. Matt looked in the direction of the sound and saw the Piancatos' long red station wagon in the parking lot. “I've gotta boogey,” he said. “I'll talk to you about this later, okay? Just chill, man.”
Just chill? That was the best Jake could do? Matt was furious. Jake was easy-going, sure, but this was ridiculous. Matt was in huge trouble because of Jake and all he could say was “That sucks” and “Just chill.”
Normally on such a perfect spring afternoon, watching a softball game in the stands, Matt would have been in a terrific mood. But he couldn't shake the worry over his situation. What was he going to do to make things right with his mom and without alienating Jake?
The South Side girls had a powerful team this season, and getting Andrea back in the lineup made the Stingers that much better. Churchill was no match for them. In her first game since returning from her injury, Andrea went two-for-four with a double and the Stingers won 10-0.
Matt was happy for Andrea as he walked home from South Side. But the situation with his mom and Jake was still troubling him. By the time he reached the front door, he could smell Mom's chili cooking. That made him feel a bit better. He loved chili, and Mom always made garlic toast to go with it.
“Hey, Matt,” she called out as he came in the door. “Wash up. I've got supper ready. I've got to show a house to clients tonight so we're eating early.”
Matt joined his mom at the table for dinner. The chili was awesome. The two chatted about their days and Matt was just about to help himself to a second bowl when his mom cleared her throat.
“Matt, I talked to Mr. Evans today,” she said. “He's running a weekly group educational session for kids. It's every Sunday for two months and it's only for two hours. I'd like you to start going.”
Mr. Evans was Marcia's dad and the school district's drug and alcohol counselor.
“What for?” he said. “I don't need to go to that. I told you, I've got nothing to do with drugs.”
“I know what you told me and I believe you,” Mom said. “But just the same, I want you to take this session. It won't hurt, right? And there will probably be some kids there that you know.”
Matt doubted that. He was angry. It felt like his mom didn't believe him, didn't trust him. “No way,” he said. “I'm not going.”
“Then you're not playing baseball either.”
Matt couldn't believe the words had come out of his mother's mouth. She was going to use baseball to make him do this. This was definitely unfair. He was furious.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, getting up from the table abruptly. “I'm outta here.”
“Come back and finish your...” Mom didn't even get to finish her sentence. Matt was already in his room.
An hour later, there was a knock on the bedroom door. “I'm going to show that house now,” Mom said. “Make sure you do your homework.”
Matt grunted. “Okay. Bye.” He still didn't want to talk to her.
By 9:00 PM, she wasn't home yet, and Matt figured she was probably writing up an offer for clients. He decided to head to bed. He was tired, partly from getting up early and partly from the fight with his mother. Lying in bed, looking up at the patterns in the ceiling plaster, Matt couldn't figure a way out of this one. He would certainly have to go to the group counseling sessions. At least that would probably fix things with him and Mom. As for Jake, Matt wasn't sure what to do.
Matt sat at the front of the classroom, doodling on a piece of scrap paper. He was writing
Stingersâ5
wins, 0 losses
and drawing a picture of a trophy beside the team name, oblivious to what Mr. Evans was saying at the front of the room.
“How about you, Matt?” Suddenly the eyes of fifteen other kids were fixed upon him.
Matt didn't have a clue what Mr. Evans had asked him. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I guess I missed the question.”
Mr. Evans was a tall, stocky man with long gray-white hair that almost touched his broad shoulders. He was dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He looked like he played basketball at one time, Matt thought.
“I was just asking everybody here whether they had ever done something that later they regretted, and then didn't know how to make things right,” Mr. Evans said. “How about you? Have you ever done something like that?”
“Sure, I guess,” Matt said. He could think of plenty of things. But the thing that came to mind first was what Jake had done. And now he was paying the price for it. On a beautiful sunny spring day, instead of playing hoops with Phil and Amar and Jake at Anderson Park, he was cooped up inside this stuffy classroom.
“What we're trying to get through to you in this session is that everybody makes mistakes and that it's okay to make them,” Mr. Evans said. “The most important thing is how you learn from them. Do you keep making the same mistakes until they lead to one that changes your life in a negative way? Or do you pick up enough smarts along the way that those mistakes add up to valuable experience rather than trouble?”
What Mr. Evans was saying made sense to Matt. He had made mistakes during his first year of middle schoolâthey had almost got him thrown off the basketball teamâbut he had learned from them. Or at least he thought he had.
“We know kids are going to experiment,” Mr. Evans said, speaking to everybody in the room. “I did when I was a kid.”
That produced a few chuckles from the students in the classroom. None of them could picture Mr. Evans as a kid.
“Sometimes drugs and alcohol are part of that experimenting,” Mr. Evans continued. “And what we're trying to do here is arm you with enough information so that you can make good choices.
“This is an open class, but nothing said here goes beyond the door. I'm not here to judge you or to tell your parents or teachers or the police what you're up to. I'm here to help youâto provide you with information or advice or assistance if you need it.”
A hand went up in the back of the room. A skinny girl with spiky black hair and a silver tank top had a question.
“Does that mean you're not going to narc on us if we tell you something?” she said.
More laughs. “No.” Mr. Evans grinned. “I'm not the narcing type.”
Despite the fact he didn't want to be there, Matt couldn't help but take a liking to Mr. Evans. He was funny and seemed pretty cool for somebody who was old. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he thought.
The rest of the afternoon session was devoted to learning about different types of drugs and alcohol and the dangers of doing something stupid if you were high or drunk. At the very end of the class, Mr. Evans pulled out a clear baggie, with a line of green stuff at the bottom that looked like the spices Mom kept in the kitchen.
“Most of you may know this already, but this is what marijuana looks like,” he said, holding up the bag.
“I know many of you think it's harmless, and some adults would probably agree. But there are things you should be aware of.
“For starters, nobody knows what's really in this bag. Whoever gives or sells it to you may not know what's in it. He or she likely got it from somebody else, who could have got it from somebody else. It could be marijuana. It could be parsley. It could be poison. The point is, you don't know.”
Mr. Evans sat on the edge of his desk and leaned forward.
“I have to tell you, there is a real risk here, even with marijuana,” he said. “The police tell me that these days, marijuana sometimes has something called crystal meth mixed into it. People are getting messed up and, without realizing it, are getting addicted to a drug that is far more dangerous. And when I said that nobody knows what is in marijuana, that goes double or triple for crystal meth. Crystal meth is a drug that people are mixing in their basements using battery chemicals, paint thinner and household cleaners. It is bad news. Believe me, you don't want any part of it.